Forces of Nature (A Hunger Games AU)
by Arianwen P.F. Everett
Summary: There was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.
1. Chapter 1

Authoress' Note: This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

Forces of Nature: Part 1

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

Concordia Trinket-Abernathy strode confidently towards the third row of young girls, ensuring that she would be the first of the thirteen-year-olds seen when the cameras panned over the crowd. This was her second reaping and she knew in her gut she was going to be the female tribute from District 12 this year despite the fact that her name was only in the reaping ball twice and she had no intention of volunteering.

No, her Aunt Theodora, Mommy's sister, had publicly supported loosening restrictions on District citizens hunting, fishing, and gardening some of their own food after last year's heatwave destroyed nearly the entire grain crop in Nine and a quarter of the produce from Eleven. Famine had run rampant throughout most of the Districts and even otherwise oblivious Capitol Citizens were alarmed by the staggering levels of death from malnutrition and starvation in the poorer districts.

According to Grandpa, who was one of the most respected attorney's in the Capitol, before the Dark Times the Capitol Assembly, to which Aunt Thea was a member, had held the powers of the president in check, and Concordia understood that Snow couldn't risk those days returning in the form of Assemblywoman Theodora Trinket-Carlisle's campaign to sure up district food supplies. She'd seen Grandma Garnet and Uncle Birch's graves in Twelve and Aunt Johanna's family plots during the two weeks she'd spent in Seven last year, so she knew how Snow punished those whose words or deeds forced his hand and the public clamor to stop the famine had indeed compelled him to issue temporary hunting, fishing, and harvesting licenses to district citizens. From his perspective, it was a rare political defeat and like the sickly, old animal he now was, Snow would strike at any slight.

Auntie Thea and their other relatives in the Capitol had too many important connections for Snow to snuff out. No, they were all safe, and Mommy and Daddy were safe because Daddy was a victor and Mommy was beloved in the Capitol for giving up a life of leisure to marry him. Since Concordia's birth her entire family had worked hard to keep her out of the spotlight as much as possible in order to prevent anyone dangerous from taking too great an interest in the Victor and the Escort's only child, but the moment she'd learned that Uncle Peeta would be the male mentor for the 90h hunger games, when it was supposed to be her father's year, Concordia had concluded that the reaping would be rigged and not at all in her favor.

While she was taller, stronger, and better fed than most girls in Twelve, Concordia was still only thirteen, and the careers were always 18 or very close to it. There was no way she could become a Capitol favorite on physical stature alone, and while she planned to wow the Gamemakers with the shooting skills she'd picked up hunting with Aunt Katniss, her interview for individual assessment was still days away. If she were to survive, she had to start getting sponsors and allies before then, and once she'd gotten over the initial terror of knowing she was going to be sent into the arena, Concordia had mapped out a strategy. She knew she was cute and very good at convincing adults to bend to her will, even when money was involved; she would start there.

To set her plan into motion, she'd had Grandma Evangeline ship her current outfit all the way from Capitol Kids Boutique. The ruffled orange taffeta mini-dress over shiny mauve tights made Concordia stand out sharply among the other girls in Twelve, but that was the point. When her name was called, she wanted all those in the Capitol to see a child, just like their own, mount the stage and stand before Panem knowing she was being sent to a bloodbath. She wanted them to imagine, if only for a microsecond, that it was their daughter.

She would use that empathy, along with her family's connections in the Capitol to see her through. Auntie Theodora was probably already wracked with guilt, but Concordia didn't need her guilt; she needed her to work on getting sponsors from all her well-heeled campaign donors who still had use of the Assembly in their power jockeying. Considering how much they spent on the games every year, even a modest donation from each one would ensure Concordia had all she needed to become a victor.

Pulling herself from her thoughts to smile sweetly for the the camera, Concordia watched as her mother's replacement, Valencia Monroe, took the stage and started the propo that always preceded the reaping. Rather than listen to Snow's propaganda, Concordia mentally reviewed her speech to calm her nerves.

Unfortunately, her father chose that moment to look her in the eye and her heart sped up. She had to live. She had to survive the arena for him, for Uncle Chaff, for Aunt Johanna, and for all the other victors who had lost so much because of their participation in the Hunger Games. While she felt totally at ease placing her life in Aunt Katniss and Uncle Peeta's hands, they had Willow and Rye and the rest of their families; the others needed her more. She would stay alive for them.

If there was any silver lining in this mess, it was that Queen Mags had died three years ago and hadn't lived to see her reaped, but Concordia could always use the dear, grandmotherly victor's memory to calm herself when the fear of going into the arena became too much. In her mind, she'd return to the days when she and the matriarch of the boisterous family of victors would just sit silently, cuddled together on the couch, as the others teased and argued and just generally hung out in one or another's suit at the training center the night before they'd all return to their districts after that year's games. As a little girl, struggling to keep up with conversations that were far beyond her understanding, those warm, spindly arms had felt like unconditional love and confidence.

The loss of them had been terrible, but surviving the pain had toughened Concordia enough that she could help mitigate the death toll the heatwave and subsequent famine had wrought in Twelve. With her parent's blessing, she'd run off with Aunt Katniss every chance they got, no matter how sore and exhausted those open ended expeditions made them, bringing back as much food as possible. Concordia supplemented the birds, squirrels, rabbits, and deer that she'd been able to bring down with edible plants and mushrooms that she'd learned about from a book she'd bought in the Capitol, one forbidden to District citizens. Queen Mags, both in life and in death, had silently taught her that even though she might not understand everything she encountered in life, with the right guidance, she could act to make things better. Aunt Katniss had become that guiding force during the famine and together they'd managed to feed many families in the Seam. Concordia knew Aunt Katniss would guide her again through the arena and perhaps one day, she could pay both victors' guidance forward to another little girl.

Suddenly Concordia heard the words she'd defined as her cue and stood up straight. "So, without further ado, ladies first!"

Concordia took a deep breath and forced herself to appear eager as she waited for the lavishly painted woman to totter over to the reaping bowl and pull out a slip of paper.

Putting a hand to her chest in mock relief, Valencia Monroe commented under her breath. "The odds must be in my favor today. Finally a girl's name I can pronounce. Concordia Trinket-Abernathy!"

Concordia squealed as if she'd just won front row tickets and back stage passes to see Omanique Dale in concert, then turned to Kimberlite O'Brien, who had been standing next to her, briefly hugged her, and whispered as if she were speaking to a dear, old friend. "Better luck next year."

Kimberlite stood, wide-eyed in shock, as the cameras focused on her and Concordia felt a tiny moment of remorse. She barely knew the girl, but she'd used her as a prop and probably scared her and her family something crazy. The O'Briens were a nice family and didn't deserve that. She hoped Mommy would force Daddy to help her make it up to them while she was away in the games.

Before the peacekeepers assigned to bring the tributes to the stage could reach her, Concordia dashed up the steps and threw herself onto her new escort whose own shock left her barely able to stutter out "Thank.. Thank.. Thank you, Dear!" 

"Oh no, thank you! This is the greatest moment of my life! And I promise everyone in Twelve that I'm going try my best to win the games and bring glory home to our district!" Concordia enthused into the microphone before stepping back to let Miss Malone continue the reaping, proud everything had gone off without a hitch. Daring a look up at Daddy, Uncle Peeta, and Aunt Katniss, she saw they were all proud of how well she'd done, despite the grave expressions they were wearing for the cameras.

Then the other shoe dropped.

"March Brenner!" the name of her District partner rang out, snapping Concordia's attention back to the reaping. Of all the boys in Twelve, March was the worst possible outcome.

At seventeen, he was a hothead and a bruiser, just the kind of guy who'd think himself capable of running with the career pack. In short, he had little potential as an ally but could become a major obstacle to her plans, and as they were to share a suite, an escort, and mentors for the next few days before the games, she'd have to be constantly on her guard, even when discussing strategy with her team. Once she was on the train she'd have to see where his mind was on his reaping and devise a strategy to keep him out of her hair.

"Well, shake hands you two," Valencia Monroe coached as Concordia approached March, her best on-camera smile plastered to her face.

All of a sudden her hand was on fire as March's large fingers attempted to cruelly squeezed the life out of hers. Refusing to give him the cry of pain she knew he wanted all potential sponsors watching to hear, Concordia spun into her district partner's personal space and elbowed him in the face before jamming her kitten heel into his foot and pushing him as far away from her as possible with both of her now free hands. "Miss Monroe said shake hands, not break hands, you Creep!"

"She broke my nose! The little monster broke my nose!" March growled as blood gushed down his one good shirt and he lunged towards Concordia, only to be held back by a peacekeeper who'd finally arrived on stage.

"Children! Children! Restrain yourselves!" Valencia Monroe howled, smacking March's muscular forearm with her folded fan.

While holding her father's eyes to keep him from storming the stage and gutting March with the knife he'd started keeping in his boot the day Mommy had told him she was on the way, Concordia sighed before carefully moving towards March, her arms out at her sides as if to show all of Panem that she meant him no more harm. "I apologize. I didn't mean to injure you, but I can't afford a broken hand. They don't heal as quickly as a noses do. If you like, my Uncle Grecian is the best pediatrician in the Capitol. I'm sure he could get your nose back into tip top shape by the time the gong sounds in the arena."

Concordia knew she'd hit her mark with that last line. She'd not only come off as the rational and innocent party, but had beaten up a boy far larger than herself, and then implied he was still a child by suggesting he see a pediatrician. As soon as she could get out of the range of Capitol TV's microphones, she'd have to apologize to Uncle Peeta for making his upcoming attempts to get sponsors for March so difficult, but she'd had no choice. Had she not responded as she did, her dominant hand would have been broken and his tribute would have succeeded in making her look like a little girl, not a viable tribute, in front of all of Panem. That was not the image she was going for.

Recognizing his defeat, March looked out on the sea of disapproving faces before him and stared them all down as best he could while plugging his nose with the tissues the mayor's wife had handed him. He only flinched slightly when his now mentor, Peeta Mellark, gently patted his shoulder and, with equal silence, turned him towards the arriving car that would take them to the train station.

As they rode the short distance through the crowds gathered to see them off, Concordia began to formulate a plan to deal with her district partner. She'd assumed that Snow's lackeys would have selected a weakling, so naturally uncoordinated and terrified of the games that his clinginess would get her killed in the arena. However, if there was one thing Concordia had learned from her extended family of victors it was that you'd never survive the Hunger Games if you didn't possess inhuman levels of flexibility and the the creativity to create a plan B for every plan A you devised moment to moment. Perhaps March's reaping wasn't the detour she'd thought; perhaps it was an opportunity to sharpen her skills before her life literally depended on them.


	2. Chapter 2

Authoress' Note: This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

Forces of Nature: Part 2

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

As the train lurched into motion, Concordia grabbed two mini spinach quiches off the bottom rung of a tiered tray, poured herself a cup of tea from the cart, then headed towards the comm station to call her grandparents and Uncle Cinna in the Capitol. She needed to make sure everything was in place for when she arrived. Unlike other tributes, her train would be met by family, friends of family, and everyone her relatives trusted to put on a good show. Seeing so many Capitol citizens warmly embracing a tribute and that tribute embracing back would help cement her image as a child of the Capitol. Then her grandparents, Aunt Thea, and Uncle Grecian could start preparing for the fundraiser they'd be hosting the night of the tribute interviews, catered and attended by Victors Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen.

Once that was done, Concordia refilled her cup and sat down opposite her district partner, observing him in silence until he finally spoke. "I'm not apologizing, if that's what you're waiting for."

"You were doing what you thought would best help to keep you alive in the arena. I grew up around victors and there is one ironclad rule among them; whatever is done to survive in the games is never personal and should never be held against anyone. I may not as yet be a victor, but I live by that rule regardless. No apology is necessarily. If anything, what you did earned you my respect. I had written you off as a potential alley. Now I'm not so sure; you're smarter than I'd imagined," Concordia explained, resuming her inspection of March.

March sniffed indignantly. "I'm afraid to ask, but what did you imagine?"

"I imagined you were some ignorant brute who'd show all his strengths and weaknesses the first day of training, attempt to make an alliance with the Career Pack, and then, assuming you were even accepted, get yourself gutted the minute they felt you weren't worth the food you were shoveling into your pie hole," Concordia stated in the most coarse District 12 language she knew. March might be smart, but her mother had arranged for her schooling in Twelve to be augmented by Capitol tutors who worked with her via vidphone. There was no way her district partner would have as robust a vocabulary as her, and one thing her language arts tutor, Bathsheba, had taught her was the need to speak to your audience in the language they, not you, are most comfortable in.

March chuckled before running a hand through his hair and rolling his tongue against the right side of his cheek, a habit everyone said he'd inherited from his father, though he'd never know for certain. His dad had died in the same mine collapse that had killed Katniss Everdeen's. The difference was that the female victor had been fourteen years old at the time. His mother hadn't even known she was pregnant with him.

The stuck up brat across from him had a living dad as well as pretty much everything else she could want. March sneered in resentment. "And now you think I might be worthy of an alliance, because I nearly busted your hand? So if I'd broken your leg, you'd what, want to get married or something? Boy you Capitols really are freaks!"

"Firstly, insulting Capitol citizens is uncalled for and will likely get you a not-so-fun surprise in the arena. They bug these trains and the training center as much as they do the games themselves, so even if you feel something impolitic down to the deepest, darkest sub-cockles of your heart, it's best you zip it. Secondly, I'm only half Capitol or I wouldn't be here sharing the pleasure of your company at this moment. And finally, the reason I think you might make a good ally is your comfort with what my grandma refers to as 'the forth wall', that is how the performer plays their role, mindful of their audience, but never breaking character. Most people understand that they're being watched by hundreds of thousands of people when their face is up on the giant screens, but for some reason, most of the kids from Twelve never make the leap that potential sponsors want to fall in love with a character and that they need to play the right role to get them to shell out money. It drives Daddy and Aunt Katniss nuts and costs a lot of tributes their lives, but you seem to get it. Your mistake was trying to create your own character and use the reaping to introduce him. Defining your character is your mentor's job, and you're very lucky because Uncle Peeta is the best at it! If anyone can repair the damage you did, it's him!" Concordia explained, trying to sound upbeat and offer encouragement like good district partners were supposed to.

"I'm not playing a role for those poofs, and I won't perform like a trained monkey!" March barked defensively, his face twisted in disgust at what the girl was suggesting.

"Why? You had no problem performing when you tried to crush my hand, or were you under the impression that I'm the only other tribute with hands? No, you did what you did because you wanted to look tough, to let sponsors know you had no problem hurting younger kids if it was to your advantage to do so. You have a gift for performing like a trained monkey; embrace it. It may just keep you alive," Concordia advised, trying to sound as grave and experienced as she possibly could. A part of her was already weary of acting like she had no fear and knew everything, but the act was necessary. If she became a victor, she'd have long stretches to be herself between games and visits to the Capitol. Right now, she had to be Concordia Trinket-Abernathy the perfect Hunger Games tribute.

"I'll keep myself alive, without your help," March stated, storming over to the food tray and grabbing a handful of fruit-filled tarts before stomping out of the car.

Concordia rolled her eyes, wondering how long it would take her district partner to realize he'd stumbled into the bar car and couldn't go any further. With any luck he'd get lost like they say her father used to do back when he was a raging drunk. That would most certainly keep him out of her way.

Thankfully, her dark thoughts were interrupted by Aunt Katniss and Uncle Peeta entering the car. Thanks to Mommy's repetitive comments about all the extra work she used to do for Daddy when he was a drunk, Concordia knew that mentors had a boatload of paperwork to fill out after a reaping and her aunt and uncles' arrival meant that they'd finally been able to break away and tend to their charges. Looking around, Peeta broke the silence. "Where's March?"

"He got all huffy and headed towards the bar car. With any luck he'll stay there!" Concordia snipped, folding her arms across her chest in defiance of the scolding she was likely to get from her Aunt and Uncle.

"I'll get him. He's my tribute, after all," Peeta interrupted jovially, stopping his wife from reflexively giving her tribute the tirade she expected. In certain ways, Concordia was every inch her father's child. A lecture would only make her dig her heels in deeper and none of them could waste a moment on obstinacy.

"Alright Cordy, what happened?" Katniss Everdeen Mellark asked, seating herself next to her tribute and niece in all but blood. These past few months had been trying on them all, but Katniss new these next few days would be the worst for her. It was one thing to prepare to send a girl you loved almost as much as your own children into the arena, another thing to actually do it. Pushing aside her fears, she focused on the task ahead. Cordy had to come first; the tribute always came first.

"I was explaining how he'd impressed me with his attempt to use the reaping to get sponsors and he just wouldn't drop the act! I was reaching out my hand in alliance and he just slapped it away! Well good riddance! Let him ally with the careers; I'm sure they'll take good care of him, right up until the knife goes in!" Concordia spat, her face scrunched up in malice. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't relish the thought of careers killing a kid from Twelve, even March. He was a jerk, but nobody deserved to die at those sadists' hands.

"You're assuming he was putting on an act for the sponsors," Katniss sighed, taking her tributes hand in her own. The girl always relaxed with even the slightest touch of affection, making her more receptive to what she was told. It was a trick Katniss had learned from Peeta, but it worked. That was the important thing.

"Of course he was, and it was good acting too. I was telling him that when he told me he didn't want my help and rudely stormed off after manhandling the pastries. I don't get it; I was complementing him," Concordia huffed, her anger beginning to dissipate under her Aunt's comforting touch.

"Cordy, you're part Capitol and it's been my experience that people in the Capitol always assume they're on camera. They're comfortable with it, and considering your parents' celebrity, you're even more at ease than most. March has never been in the spotlight before. He doesn't understand the rules, and you know them instinctively. Just give him some space and some time to cool down, and if you won't do it for him, do it for Uncle Peeta. He has to train the boy," Katniss coaxed her niece, kissing the top of Concordia's hand before returning it to her and standing up to get herself some coffee and refill Concordia's tea.

"Fine. I'll be the gracious hostess Mommy and Grandma taught me to be, but I don't think March and I are destined to become allies. I'll try to broach the subject again once he's has had a day or two to process, but you know I can't offer more than that. I have my own schedule to keep," Concordia insisted as she sipped her tea, promising herself this would be the last cup. Otherwise she might have trouble sleeping tonight and she needed to look well rested when she got off the train.

"Thank you. You're being very patient," Katniss replied, rolling her eyes at her tribute's smile at the sarcastic praise.

The two finished their cups in companionable silence before Peeta came in, followed by a somewhat sheepish March. Concordia kept her eyes on her saucer and refused to smirk and antagonize him further. However, the smell coming off him as he passed by forced her to bite her lip and she could see, out of the corner of her eye, that Aunt Katniss had gotten a whiff of it also. March had been drinking and Uncle Peeta was trying to hide the fact. If March needed time to deal with the internal fall out of his reaping, witnessing a marital dispute between his mentors wouldn't help things along, so handing off her cup and saucer to a nearby avox, Concordia stood to speak. "Perhaps March and I should go to our rooms, shower, and change for dinner."

"Good idea," Both mentors replied, one with a growl, the other making an attempt to sound cheerful, despite the fact that he knew he was deep in the dog house.

Seeing his mentor's unease and that of the brat who was already moving to the door of their train car, March nodded and followed, the whiskey he'd consumed having dulled his senses, but not gotten far enough to completely dull his wits. If the two victors of the 74th games were going to have a blow up, he'd rather not be around.

Once both of their tributes were gone, Peeta embraced his wife and instead of giving him hell over the whiskey, she merely rested her head on his shoulder. "Cordy doesn't want March as an ally."

"We've never had two tributes who wouldn't work together. We've never had to mentor individually," Peeta answered, his mind trying to figure out some way to play this situation. The two of them had a routine, Katniss trained the kids for the arena; he spun their stories and did most of the schmoozing of sponsors. As far as he knew Haymitch and Katniss had never dealt with this situation either. Kids from Twelve always stuck together. It had never occurred to any of them that Cordy might not be able to trust or even work with her district partner. Snow and his sycophants had chosen March well, but being the master media manipulator he was known to be, Peeta knew that it was his job to fix things. The question was how.

"Well, I just got off the vidphone with the game keepers, and luckily for us they were more amused than upset by the shenanigans your tributes pulled at the reaping. Really though, the both of you must keep those two in line! I'd expect as much from Abernathy's spawn, but the other cretin as well!" Valencia Monroe bristled, her face becoming pinched with burgeoning frustration. Most years she could leave the children with their mentors and hop off to all the important parties. If these kids didn't straightened up, her whole social season could be compromised, and she wasn't getting any younger. Another year meant more competition for the most desirable men and more laugh lines to contend with. Seeing her District Twelve colleagues disapproving expressions, Valencia assumed she'd made her point with them and hurried off touch up her make up before dinner.

"I've said it before, I'll say it again.." Peeta began, knowing his wife was thinking the same thing.

"Thank Panem for Effie Trinket."


	3. Chapter 3

Authoress' Note: This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

Forces of Nature: Part 3

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

Octavia mixed an aloe-oatmeal scrub as she anxiously awaited her tribute for this year. However, this wasn't any year or any tribute; her oldest friend's only child was her canvas and being a mother herself, Octavia felt a deep seeded need to see Concordia into, and hopefully out of, the arena in the best fashion possible. She added a tiny squirt of lemon juice to the mix and finished the concoction barely two minutes before the girl arrived.

At least she had experience with maintaining this tribute's complexion. Most kids from Twelve desperately needed the scrub considering the extent their stylists had to go to in order to get all the coal dust out of every nook and crevice, but while she knew Effie would never let Cordy get that dirty, the girl had her mother and grandmother's sensitive skin. She would have to go light on the perfumes, stick to hypoallergenic powder and a very mild foundation to be removed immediately after events so that the girl's pores could breath whenever not on camera. As she painted on a smile that belied her heartbreak at the prospect of Concordia's future in the arena, Octavia swore an oath not to allow a single pimple or blemish to mar her features. If Cordy were to die, she would die the vision of loveliness her parents had created and Octavia dearly cared for.

"Oh Flavius, my hair is abysmal today! I mean, I've been doing the double rinse like you instructed last year, but I've still felt like I've had a wet dog sitting on my head since morning!" I swear, the humidity was truly depressing! How the heck did the Capitol get so moist this time of year?!" Concordia whined as she approached her styling team.

"El Nino, My Nina. The changing weather patterns brought a late spring which hasn't yet abated, so the air is more humid than usual. But don't fret; your attention to maintenance throughout the year will bestow upon me extra time to perk up those strawberry blonde locks. You'll be glowing by parade time, I promise," Flavius assured the girl, desperately trying to hold back the tears in his eyes. Finnick Odair was still the youngest victor on record, and a good year older than Concordia at the time he won his games. To say the least, the odds were not in the favor of the girl whose hair he had styled since her first haircut when she was a baby, and Flavius' heart was wrung out already. He wasn't sure how he'd make it through her first styling, not to mention all the other events to come.

"Thank Snow for that! If I'm going to get sponsors and win the games, I can't have an ungodly hair day ruin my debut! People notice that sort of thing," Concordia reasoned, hoping to set Flavius' grief to a task instead of letting it fester and possibly implode, getting him killed as soon as the cameras turned away from this years games.

Suddenly Leda, the twenty-two year old manicurist who'd only just joined the prep team last year, arrived and the rest of the group fell into their roles instinctively. For that Concordia was grateful, even if it meant she couldn't completely relax during her beauty treatments. She needed to relax whenever possible, but her prep team needed her to be their strong leader. They needed to believe she stood a chance so that they'd do whatever she requested. One aspect of her plan relied on having their assistance in the early morning hours before the games began. They would be crucial to her survival, so she needed to cultivate their faith. Lying down on the prep table, Concordia let the morning's tension drain from her body as she felt Octavia and Flavius' comforting hands do their work. In truth, prep time was over and she was on her way. She had to trust in her plans and hope for the best.

True to his word Flavius had worked a miracle and by the time Concordia was left to wait for her Uncle Cinna, she felt reinvigorated. That all changed when she saw Cinna's deep brown eyes peep into the room. A make over always made her feel her best, but she couldn't allow her love of Capitol grooming distract her. She had a job to do, one her life depended on. Rising, she met Cinna as the door opened and threw herself into his arms. Aunt Katniss always marveled at Uncle Cinna's hugs, and she was absolutely right. You never felt unsafe or scared in his embrace, even going into the arena. It was irrational, but none the less true. "How you holding up, Pumpkin?"

"Better than I thought. I'm taking it one move at a time, working my strategy minute by minute. Flavius saved my hair, so at least your work will show to best effect this evening. You have my dress, right?" Concordia asked offhand, not wanting to dwell on what lay ahead. She had to move one moment at a time. There was only now and now required the perfect dress for the tribute parade.

"Of course. Would I ever let you down?" Cinna asked, rubbing the Concordia's back as she moved to sit back down on the prep table.

"Of course not. You wouldn't let any tribute down, but especially not me. I'm more concern with March, at the moment. He's got a big scar on his left shoulder from a knife fight he got into last year at the Hob. Perhaps you can show it off; let everyone see he's used to fighting and not a pain wimp," Concordia considered. Cinna knew her body. She'd been on Capitol TV four times in her life, and even the first time, when she had been barely two months old, Cinna had chosen her outfit. March was a new acquaintance. Cinna would need all the info he could get to make the pair from District Twelve shine over the next few days.

"That probably won't work on the parade costume, but perhaps I can arrange for his arms to be bare when he goes for his photo shoot. I'll have Octavia highlight it some as well. Maybe Peeta can hype it before the interviews. Although I'm surprised, after what happened at the reaping, I didn't think you'd be interested in supporting his cause," Cinna commented, more interested in why Concordia was trying to help March repair his image.

"Look, he never knew his dad and his mom can't feed him regularly, so he hangs out at the Hob, picking up work here and there. Gets into a lot of fights too. Aunt Katniss says that he's not used to the spotlight, which is why he's acting out and I should give him time to adapt before I press for an alliance again. Needless to say he has a lot of anger, but if I can channel it in the arena, he'd make a great ally," Concordia explained, trying not to sound weak. Truth was, she felt sorry for March; not sorry enough to die for him, but sorry enough that if she perished, she hoped he'd win and someday learn to rise above his anger. If anyone could help with that, it would be Uncle Peeta.

"Do you think you can channel his anger by games time?" Cinna asked, not sure this was a good plan, but knowing it was Katniss he should discuss any doubts with.

"Yes, but how I channel it is the question. I still hope to make him an ally, but if I can't accomplish that, I can always promote him in the eyes of the careers. Let him be their ticking time bomb," Concordia concluded sadly. March was too volatile to be allowed to run free through the arena. If she couldn't control him, she'd have to put him in a situation where he'd be killed, hopefully giving her an advantage against the careers with his passing. With her he'd still die, but she'd keep him alive as long as possible and give him the quickest, most pain-free death she could offer under whatever circumstances they found themselves in when the time came. They were both children of Twelve and if March could be made to see reason and ally with her, she would honor him in death by the rites of Twelve.

"Perhaps I can help him see the light. I mean, you understand how formal Capitol attire fits and can mostly dress yourself. I'll leave you in Octavia, Flavius, and Leda's care, and that will give me more time with Mr. Brenner. Of course I'll give you a brief once over before the parade, but from what you're saying, I think March needs my help a bit more," Cinna offered, not wanting to leave Concordia, but hoping to help the damaged young man she was paired with see the benefit of allying with her as they fought for their lives in a few days time.

"Thank you, Uncle Cinna," Concordia replied gratefully, stealing one more hug before letting him go do his job.

"You don't need to thank me. Just get dressed and have a small bite before they do your hair and make up. Otherwise, you'll be famished by the time the tribute parade ends," Cinna advised before nodding to the thirteen year old tribute he adored so dearly. Then he slipped out into the hall to instruct the other stylists of their duty and his plans for the hot headed boy.

"Will do," Concordia confirmed as she watched him leave the room. Fighting off any loneliness Cinna's exit spurred, she took a deep breath and waited.

While Cinna had created it, the thematic inspiration had been hers. Knowing Concordia was almost certainly going to be reaped had given the master stylist months to work out the logistics of her idea, and in just under two hours Cinna's hard work was sure to make her and March the talk of the Capitol. Things were beginning to come together, so Concordia stretched and massaged her neck before Octavia, Flavius and Leda restarted the circus with their arrival.

An hour and twenty minutes later, the smell of horses filled her nostrils as Concordia waited for her district partner. Cinna and Flavius were putting the final touches on her gown and hair, and Concordia felt truly beautiful. Examining herself in a mirror Leda held for her, she had to wonder if this was as good as it would ever get. She'd always believed that her wedding day would be the day she sparkled brighter than ever, but if she died in the arena, this could be her one and only chance to shine. No, she had to put those thoughts out of her mind. She would survive. Many years from now she'd see her wedding day, and the gown Uncle Cinna was destined to design for that occasion would make this gorgeous obsidian creation look like a scuffed up flour sack sitting in Uncle Peeta's family larder back home.

As the elevator doors opened and March and two of his stylists stepped out, Concordia couldn't help but pray that the man she eventually married was way handsomer than her district partner. March's appearance was painfully plain, and his numerous fights had left him looking mauled, even when clean and wearing Cinna's elegant handiwork. His nose still swelled from her assault yesterday, but it had been set with invisible tape that could only be seen up close, which should help people forget his terrible showing at the reaping. Still, Concordia had never been able to look at him, either here or in Twelve, without envisioning a tomcat with patches of hair missing as a result of too many scars from too many fights.

"I can't believe I'm wearing this thing; I look ridiculous!" March scowled, pulling down hem of the black, beaded vest he was wearing.

"It's just a costume, March," Peeta Melark sighed, silently apologizing to the stylists present with his put upon, pleading gaze.

"Exactly. This is not meant to be a statement about you; you're just dressing the part," Cinna added, patting Peeta's shoulder to let him know he didn't hold him accountable for March's words.

"Oh I'm sorry, Sir. I know you've worked hard on these costumes and I'm grateful for your efforts on my behalf," March tried to apologize. The warm hearted stylist was the only person in this nightmare who had treated him with dignity and he was appreciative. He didn't like being a burden, but he wasn't cut out for this world and its ways, unlike the young girl standing by the chariot.

"We can definitely agree on that. As usual, you've done an amazing job," Concordia complimented, not wanting to gush too much in front of March. Aunt Katniss had said to give him space and that was exactly what she was going to do.

"Thank you, both of you. Now, when you're ready, push this button and make sure to close your eyes as the light gets bright. Count to ten and only then open your eyes. Otherwise it could take as long as an hour or two for your vision to return and I'm far too busy to deal with an angry call from your parents," Cinna quipped, smirking with Concordia as they both imagined Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy's incongruously accented voices raging over a vidphone. They were likely already near a breaking point just with the idea of her in the games. They didn't need her injured at the tribute parade.

"That make the imaginary fire start, right Sir?" March asked curiously, still suspicious of any Capitol's motives, even one who seemed kind on the surface.

"In most years, it would, but this year I'm spicing it up. The fire will start, but then it will become something more. I can't go into it here, as there are too many people around who might ruin the surprise, but it'll really get everyone's attention and that will help get you two sponsors," Cinna explained, knowing the boy was nervous.

"It's going to be great, you'll see!" Concordia enthused, before shutting herself up again. She had to be patient.

"Now, they'll be calling you to the chariots in a few minutes. I have some last minute paperwork I need to attend to, but I'll see you guys immediately after the parade. Play nice and remember what we talked about," Cinna finished, patting March's forearm to let him know who he was really addressing, before striding away towards the elevator March had arrived in.

"Cinna's the best, isn't he?" Concordia offered, hoping to open up dialogue on the one thing they seemed to agree on.

"Yes. He's a very kind, very wise man.. He told me you're still interested in an alliance. That true?" March asked hesitantly.

Concordia looked up at her district partner to gauge his mood and sincerity. When she didn't detect any guile or suppressed resentment, she spoke again. "Very much so, but I won't be your punching bag between now and then. I may be half Capitol, but I'm being sent into the arena against my will just the same as you. We may have had very different starts in life, but if this isn't a genuine attempt to work together to survive, we'll both surely share the same end, far, far from home."

"Oh, I understand. Believe me. However, I'm confused. I thought you said that reaping day was the best day of your life," March replied in genuine confusion. This was not the stuck up brat from the train. This person he could work with.

"Because that's what most sponsors want to hear. They want to believe that you're as enthusiastic to die for their amusement as they are to watch you do so, and while I'm not saying that there aren't parts of the games experience I won't genuinely enjoy, I'm not here for the thrills. My monkey training is just far more advanced than yours is," Concordia finished, winning an eye roll from March.

"Mr. Cinna pretty much said the exact same thing. I don't understand Capitol ways and you were bred to them and could help me build my sponsorship base," March remarked, a bit amused by the similarity of thought between two such different people.

"I wasn't bred to the Capitol; I was bred to the Hunger Games. Most Capitols see them very differently. The key is to understand how sponsors see them, so you can use that perception to get them to open their wallets," Concordia explained, hoping she wasn't pushing March too fast.

March rolled his tongue in his cheek and massaged the back of his neck. He wasn't sure an alliance was his best bet for the arena, but for the time being, it made sense to get him sponsors. "Alright. We can be allies. You know the games. What do we now?"

Suddenly the loudspeaker buzzed before commanding "All tributes mount up!"

"Mount up?" March asked, confused.

"It's the Capitol equivalent of 'git your lazy tribute arses onta dem chariots now!" Concordia groused playfully, mimicking Foreman Edgars stance and irritated voice as he ordered his men into the mine elevators each morning.

March burst out into laughter that turned more than a few heads as he stepped up onto the chariot. Men in Twelve didn't restrain their amusement, what little of it life offered, so she wasn't the least bit startled as she gracefully hoisted the hem of her gown and joined him. Wiping his eyes, March tilted his head towards his district partner. "It seems so perfectly clear when you say it,"

"Grandpa says I'm an excellent cross-cultural translator. But to answer your earlier question, as soon as we pull out, you smile and wave. Imagine that the chariot is your home and all the people in the stands are friends you've invited over for your mom's birthday supper. You see them coming down the gravel towards the seam, and you're happily calling them over, welcoming them into your home," Concordia advised, letting herself breath in the imaginary rabbit stew wafting through her parents house from the kitchen where Uncle Peeta was letting it simmer, as she first spots her party guests from the Seam entering the cast iron gates of Victor's Village. Birthday suppers were usually pot luck affairs in the seam where March lived, but the feeling would be the same, pride in his home, pride in his family, and the expectation of the good food and good company to come. Sponsors would need to witness beaming tributes, or all they'd see was Cinna's special effects. Inner glow could easily double both their hauls tonight.

March nodded in understanding. "Done."

Suddenly the Anthem of Panem began and the chariot lurched into motion. "And as Mommy always advises "Chins up. Smiles on!"


	4. Chapter 4

Authoress' Note: This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

Forces of Nature: Part 4

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

"Really, Miss Abernathy, I don't see why you're still so upset! You did splendidly at the parade! My friends were all very, very impressed!" Valencia Monroe complimented as if earning the good opinion of her friends was the only reason anyone got out of bed in the morning

Concordia briefly wondered if this is what she and her mother sounded like to most of the citizens of District 12. They had always attempted to adopt the customs and practices that worked best from both Twelve and the Capitol, but if this is what people back home heard when the Trinkets spoke, it was no wonder their family only kept a tight group of friends there. "I'm eager to watch 'Parade Review'! I need to hear how people, other than your friends, received us; you know, the ones with the big time sponsorship funds, the ones that actually count!"

In the background of her thoughts, Concordia heard Valencia huff indignantly and Aunt Katniss, Uncle Peeta, and even March chuckle, or try very hard not to, but her head just wasn't there. 'Parade Review' would let her gauge whether she and Uncle Cinna had hit their mark with the costumes.

"I can check both your accounts as soon as we get upstairs if you like," Peeta offered, knowing that when the girl started talking like her father, she was frazzled and needed support. Now that their two tributes were allies, he and Katniss could work as a team, which was far more natural to them.

"Thanks Uncle Peeta. Cinna and I were going for a new theme for Twelve. The fact that I got reaped should really stick the point for obvious reasons." Concordia detailed, knowing that since she was already well known as half Capitol, the theme would be virtually on the nose.

"Thank you, Sir," March replied respectfully, managing to hold back another eye roll in the name of peace. Perhaps he was just beginning to develope an immunity to Capitol inanity. As the elevator doors opened onto the District Twelve suite, Concordia grabbed the hem of her gown and ran all the way into the main parlor where the television was before March could even get past the foyer.

"How can she run so fast in that get up?" March asked, completely amazed at the speed the thirteen year old girl could achieve on stilts, wearing a weighty headdress, and carrying the bottom half of her gown all the way.

"According to Cordy's mom, Effie, Capitol parents allow girls to raise their heels a half an inch each year from the time they're ten until they're eighteen. That's how they can handle those towering heights you see at the reaping without falling over. Being as she'll almost certainly spend her birthday in the arena, Cinna's going to graduate her to two inches a week early for her interview with Caesar," Peeta informed, guiding March into the luxurious penthouse.

"She'll be in the arena on her birthday?" March asked incredulously, not having realized that his district partner would miss such an important event and surprised she wasn't more upset about it.

"If she's still alive by day three, then yes, she'll turn fourteen there," Peeta admitted as he watched Concordia and Katniss sink into the couch cushions and focus their attention on Capitol TV.

"Let me guess; she plans to bat her eyelashes at the million or so cameras on us and wheedle useful presents out of sponsors," March half-questioned, beginning to get how his district partner's mind worked.

"Yep and I wouldn't bet against it working. You've never seen Cordy out in the Capitol. Little old ladies pretty much throw themselves at her feet. She even had a few smaller sponsorships locked in before our train pulled out of Twelve, at least that's what the gamekeepers told me and Katniss. Usually the career districts' tributes are the only ones that can manage that. Doesn't surpise me any; Cordy's the home town girl playing the home town game. It makes perfect sense as far as anything Capitol makes sense," Peeta commented as he bent down to be retnal scanned by the computer to give him access to his tribute's account information.

"It's one thing to compliment someone on the street; quite another to risk real money on their living through the Hunger Games," March argued as he watched his mentor accessing the computer.

"Pretty much everyone here risks real money on the games. The question is how much they're risking and how much is coming to us. And it seems like we definitely did alright! Cordy, we did it! We surpassed our parade goal by at almost ten percent!" Peeta happily announced to the room.

"Awesome!" Concordia cheered, hugging her Aunt and high fiving her uncle at the news.

"Congradulations," March offered, trying not to resent the fact that from what he could read over his mentor's shoulder, most of the donations went to the girl on the couch.

"Same to you. You do realize that I'm planning on sharing my haul, don't you? Keeping my allies alive and able-bodied will help keep me alive and able-bodied, so my good fortune is your good fortune," Concordia assured, wanting March to realize he was a winner here too.

That was a big part of her game. She would dominate the sponsorship circuit and then bribe skilled, but less-adored tributes into an alliance. Those that sided with her would be fed and cared for in the arena, their fears of dehydration, starvation, or an agonizing death from gangreen for want of medicine no longer dogging their every step, allowing them to be bold in fighting for their lives. The fact that she had to remain alive in order for the goodies to keep flowing would lessen the chance of betrayal or defection and possibly even make them take risks on her behalf. The careers might be able to offer protection and food, but should fortune turn against them or the price of medicine become too dear, they'd never put themselves out for an ally. Concordia had made sure her aunt and uncle understood that she was willing to go just that far to keep her allies and they'd agreed that, unless they had a specific reason to do otherwise, they'd trust her judgement in dolling out parachutes.

"Awesome," March replied, mimicing his district partner's previous response. He understood the scarcity and value of sponsorships and the fact that Concordia was offering him some of her own should he need it left him truly gratified.

"Isn't it? And the parade is just the beginning. Now that we're allies, Aunt Katniss and Uncle Peeta will make a request for you at the fundraiser my grandparents are throwing the night of the interviews. Play your cards right and do whatever Uncle Peeta tells you to and you'll have your own flush account to draw from. Then you can order parachutes for yourself and and we can save some of my donations for an emergency or to keep our other allies alive," Concordia encouraged, letting March know she had faith in his ability to earn his own sponsors and appealing to any Seam child's interest in saving their resources 'for an emergency'.

"Other allies? You think we need more?" March questioned, curious to see where the girl was going. He wasn't opposed to allies, but he wanted to hear her thinking on the subject.

"We should shoot for three or four, but no more than that. We want a healthy pack, but not one so large that we draw the ire of the gamemakers. When we go down to training tomorrow morning, keep your eyes sharp. Watch the tributes from Three to Eleven. Notice what stations they gravitate towards and what skills they excell at. By the time we get back, we should know who we want to ally with. Then Aunt Katniss and Uncle Peeta can feel out their mentors and hopefully arrage a meeting for all of us after supper, where can finalize our alliance and schedule our evening prep sessions," Concordia detailed, ordering her thoughts for March's benefit.

"Evening prep sessions? What are you talking about? I thought our prep sessions were the training we get at the training center," March wondered out loud. He knew the girl was just trying to get him up to speed, but only now did he accept how little he knew and how much it irritated him to let a little girl take point in planning his future.

"Do you think the careers are going to end their day after the training center closes? Ofcourse not. They work into the night. They get maybe an hour to themselves before bed and that's that. We need to adopt that strategy if we're to survive," Concordia continued firmly but patiently. She would not show irritation with her allies. It was counterproductive, and there was little a Trinket hated more than ineffieciency.

"Alright, so what do we do tonight for prep?" March asked, curious about what she considered preparation for the Hunger Games.

"Well, tonight we'll get a bit more free time. However, we should discuss strategy over dinner and I need to make a few vidphone calls before then. Maybe you could call your mom and see how she's holding up; I can lend you the money if need be," Concordia offered, hoping that March would catch on that her generosity in this matter was part of a plan, not merely a kindness.

In preparation for her upcoming reaping, her grandparents, aunt, and uncle had gifted her with additional solstice coins, supposedly for goodies and dress fabrics, but in reality, the sum was for her to spend when she got to the Capitol. They knew she'd need to make preparations, and they wanted her to have some currency outside of the normal tribute stipend to do so. March calling his mom while she was on the other line would make the listening gamekeepers split their efforts in their eavesdropping. She knew the codes her family had agreed upon were simple and wouldn't draw attention, but every little bit of distraction helped.

"That's very kind. Thank you," March replied, deciphering the look his partner was giving him as a request, not an offer. Whatever her reasons, she wanted him to call his mother, and he'd do as asked. Considering what they'd both taken in after the parade, he trusted her judgement on such matters.

"Okay guys, top three's next!" Katniss Everdeen's voice broke through the conversation as 'Parade Review' returned from its first commercial break. The next segment was the top three costume picks, and Concordia's stomach tightened. As with the games themselves, nothing but first place would do. Anything else was failure.

Third place went to District 8, which wasn't a shocker. The textile district always had fresh and innovative stylists. Uncle Cinna once told her that Districts 1 and 8 were the top of the stylist hierarchy. All other districts, even District 2 with all their victors, were relegated to second tier most years. This year's omage to the needle and thread on their district crest was no exception.

As if her thoughts had swayed the judges, District 1 came in as runner up. Again, Concordia wasn't surprised. The second she'd laid eyes on it, Concordia had envied the gold sequins minidress the girl from One had worn. The sparse gold body glitter that thickened along her neck, all the way up to her naturally golden hair, had really made the whole look pop. She knew her mom would never have let her wear something so revealing, and her father would have used his knife on his old pal, Cinna, if he'd even considered dressing his daughter that way for the parade, but for a few moments, Cordy had wished that she had more of a woman's body to make Cinna's even more beautiful gown shine to best effect. Till that moment, watching the eighteen year old girl from One, she'd never felt so plain or so jealous before. Then again, she'd never competed in the beauty department before.

Uncle Cinna had obviously made up for a whole host of sins in her thirteen-year-old form, because after the mini-commercial created its suspense, District 12 was proclaimed the winner of the parade. Everyone in the Penthouse cheered and whooped as she and March filled the screen. From the camera angle used, she could see perfectly how Cinna had made their dream a reality, as their jet black outfits, constructed with hanging obsidian-like crystals, lit up into Twelves' signature flame. Then as the light from the flames increased, the top half of their costumes magically transformed into white quarts crystal. She and March were the diamonds that resulted from coal being placed under heat and pressure. Grant it, most diamonds didn't originate from coal as nearly all coal has too many impurities mixed in with the carbon, but outside of Twelve the myth was still believed and worked to their advantage. Concordia was sure the metaphore and the stunning visual effect combined would hit every heartstring in the Capitol, and as the night progressed and the parade was replayed and re-analyzed, District Twelve's sponsorship accounts grew, proving her correct.


	5. Chapter 5

Authoress' Note: This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

Forces of Nature: Part 5

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

"Miss Atala, I've broken my trainer. May I please be assigned another? I still have four minutes left on my mat time," Concordia requested as she rushed over to the head trainer who who'd just returned to the gym after a bathroom break.

"Broken your...?" Atala's question died on her lips as she looked over at the training mat where the Girl from Twelve's previous sparing opponent was being helped to his feet by two other trainers. His right hand fervently cradling his testicles and the agonized wince etched on his features told her all she needed to know about how this girl had 'broken' her trainer, and Atala was impressed. By crushing the man's balls, the Girl from Twelve had earned the fear, and grudging respect, of every male who'd witnessed it, be they tribute, trainer, peacekeeper, gamemaker, or most importantly, high-value sponsor. With one well-timed strike, she'd made up for her stature, youth, and Capitol manners. She'd now be judged, not in comparison to the younger, smaller children built more like herself, but to the careers. It was a clever move and one she'd not seen a tribute pull off in over a decade, the last one being a particularly inventive sixteen year old girl from District 4, who'd long since taken her place among their victors.

"I'm sorry, Miss Atala, but I really would like to make up the mat time. Perhaps I could stay an extra few minutes after dismissal, if that would work for you," Concordia negotiated, slipping into the gravity and stance her grandfather had used back when he'd been a practicing attorney. She'd watched some of his old recorded closing arguments and had been enthralled by how he spoke so well, so sensibly, that juries ended up giving him whatever he wanted. Mirroring his technique was hit and miss for her, but her odds were always better in the Capitol.

"How about we let the other tributes have their turn and I'll take you over to the individual training station. I'll even spar with you myself for your remaining time," Atala offered, knowing the girl would jump at the chance. The individual stations were directly beneath the sponsors' box and afforded them the best view of training sessions. Yes, tackling the head trainer was a challenge, but if there was one thing Atala had learned over the decades she'd worked with Haymitch Abernathy, it was that a challenge woke the old ex-drunk up like nothing else could. Judging from the predatory sparkle that appeared in his daughter's identical eyes, it appeared to be a family trait.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am," Concordia gushed as she and the older, but still amazingly fit, woman made their way back across the training center gymnasium. Signaling for her colleagues to continue with the other tributes, Atala set the timer to four minutes and swiftly acquired her fighting stance as the device completed its ten second countdown.

Concordia never took her eyes off Atala's. That was the first lesson Uncle Peeta had taught her about wrestling, a sport the Mellark boys had always excelled at. For the first thirty seconds, the two circled each other, neither making a move. Concordia knew her strategy here; Atala was bigger, stronger, and far more experienced than her, which meant Concordia's sole job was to evade every attempt the head trainer made to get a hand on her.

When the dark skinned woman lunged, Concordia dodged the first grab but had her leg sweeped out from under her on the second, landing her on her right side with a thud. Her instinct told her to roll away, but Atala was too seasoned an adversary not to see that coming. Instead, Concordia jammed the ball of her heel just below Atala's left knee, and Atala's nearly imperceptible rock back onto her stationary leg gave Concordia the split second she needed to roll to standing and resume her own stance. She wasn't fighting to win here, but to run down the clock.

A left feint and a well tucked roll on the next assault got Concordia safely to the opposite end of the mat from her opponent. Another circle around the mat and there was less than a minute left.

"I'm surprised. You were so eager to make up your time, yet all you do is roll away from me," Atala commented, hoping to distract the Girl from Twelve with conversation and gibe at her ego.

Concordia fought the urge to respond. Like her father, she could be arrogant; like her mother, gregarious, but in a fight everything boiled down to focus. She could chat with Atala when the buzzer sounded, but for now, she remained completely silent and stared the head trainer down, waiting for the next assault.

When it came, it delivered a leg to her left flank, almost making Concordia double over in pain. Momentarily stunned and with the wind knocked out of her, it was a miracle she'd remained on her feet. Knowing she couldn't get away from Atala, Concordia did the only thing she could do; with an animalistic growl, she launched her entire body weight at the older woman who had by now gained a firm grip on her sore side and right forearm. The action sent them both to the mat with a hard thud that was mercifully followed by an ear piercing buzzer, preventing Atala from flipping Concordia onto her back for a final pin.

"That was an interesting move," Atala observed, a hint of grudging respect in her voice, despite her effort to sound disapproving. With a bemusement she was better at concealing, the head trainer saw every eye, with the exception of the well-practiced peace keepers, boring into the two of them. If her goal had been to get the attention of the sponsors and her fellow tributes, the Girl from Twelve had succeeded. She'd earned her moment.

"I was too weakened to get away, and you were seconds from a final pin. Honestly, it was the only move open to me. Thankfully, it worked," Concordia smirked and waggled her eyebrows.

"Well, it was unbelievably risky; if I'd had a weapon on me, even a stray shard of glass or metal, you would have been gutted from stem to stern in a matter of seconds. You can't rely on a buzzer saving the day in the arena!" Atala scolded, this time chastising with earnestness. Outside of a fight, the girl was cocky. Until the final cannon sounded and the victor declared there was no 'outside of a fight' in the arena. Of all the lessons Atala taught each year's tributes, this was the most post important, and the most ignored.

"Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am," Concordia nodded, knowing full well what the head trainer was saying. She needed greater focus so she didn't end up in such a situation.

"You're welcome. Now rejoin the others. Trainer Chang will be demonstrating climbing techniques in a few moments and that's one of the mandatories," Atala commanded, hoping the Girl from Twelve had gotten the message. She did all she could for each of the tributes she trained. The rest was up to them.

Two hours later, their arms and legs warm and weary, Concordia and March headed towards their assigned lift with the tributes from Ten and Eleven to await their escorts and mentors arrival. March bellowed heartily at the joke Carn, the Boy from Ten, had just made, and Concordia could see her district partner was leaning towards Carn as an ally. It was a good pick, as at sixteen, the young man looked full grown and had a unique talent with rope. During their lunch break, he'd demonstrated his ability, spinning the tied off coil he'd called a 'lasso' into shapes and performing cool tricks on a few training dummies. Concordia had immediately seen the potential uses of this ability in the arena, especially when he mentioned that some of his techniques could capture and ensnare animals weighing as much as a few hundred pounds each, and yet the weapons-obsessed Careers never gave him a second glance. According to Capitol TV's broadcast last night, his odds in the betting pools were barely mid range, so all-in-all sponsors were likely to be few. Yes, Carn was a shoe in for an alliance with Twelve, assuming he and his mentor chose to accept the invitation.

Just as Concordia heard the telltale whir from the lift that signaled an approaching car, a shriek rang through the hallway, and Concordia, March, and Carn turned to see Eniac, the Girl from Three, collided with the marble floor, the taunting expression on the Girl from One's face making it clear that she didn't end up that way accidentally. Moving to stand between Sparkle and the girl just now regaining her footing, Concordia stretched high on the tips of her toes to hiss loudly in the ear of the Girl from One, making sure half the swarm around them heard every syllable. "Answer me this, Sparkle; does Eniac threaten you so much that you believe the only way to give yourself a fighting chance in the arena is to break a few of her ribs in the training center, or are you just a garden variety, District One psychopath getting in a few chuckles where you can, before the fun of killing real human beings begins?"

"Threaten me? This mouse? You've been inhaling too much coal dust, Twelve," Sparkle snorted, rolling her eyes at the insinuation, without realizing she'd just confirmed Concordia's second hypothesis. She'd been bored and the Girl from Three had looked so breakable as she timidly waited for the lift. It infuriated Sparkle that she had to keep her hands clean for another five and a half days. How she yearned to shred each and every one of these pathetic losers.

"I'd advise you not to underestimate mice, but unlike Eniac, you're too ignorant to understand the warning. Stay that way, Sparkle; it will make it so much easier for us to end you next week," Concordia responded, gently pulling the Girl from Three over to a corner to assess her condition, while March and Carn seamlessly stepped into her place, their superior height and firm stance preventing the Girl from One from following. Internally Concordia had to smile at that. They were already working as a team.

Now she hoped they could expand their alliance one more. Eniac had a near photographic memory, and her time at the survival and camouflage stations had taught Concordia that the fourteen-year-old Girl from Three knew how to use what she'd memorize. Though a bit less muscular, Eniac's basic build was similar enough to Concordia's that she'd play nicely into the female tribute from Twelve's plans. If the Girl from Three would consider an alliance, Concordia was willing to go to the wall to ensure it came about, which first meant dealing with Uncle Beetee and Aunt Wiress whose lift had just arrived.

"What's going on here?" Beetee Latier demanded of the assembled children, once he'd registered the scene he'd stepped into. The Boy from Twelve and the Boy from Ten were blocking the Career Districts' tributes from getting anywhere near the girl Wiress was mentoring and none of them looked too happy about it. His own boy was several feet away, attempting to blend in with the potted ficus in the corner of the hallway, and most distressing of all was the careful way Concordia was fingering Eniac's side, as if she were feeling for bruised or broken ribs. If the Careers had attacked one of his tributes, their mentors would hear from him, that was for sure.

As if on cue, Cashmere surged off the lift and grabbed her tribute roughly by the shoulder. "What did you do?!"

"The Wanna-Be Party Favor knocked Eniac to the floor, unprovoked. We were just helping her up and making sure she was alright," Concordia efficiently explained to Beetee, getting in a parting shot by using the mentor's derogatory term for the victors who willingly sold their bodies to President Snow's cronies. It was one thing to be blackmailed, another to volunteer knowing you'd be turned into a piece of meat for the highest bidder, all to accumulate jewels and extravagant gifts after the Capitol you'd been lent out to that evening had finished his or her business. Still, looking into the deep brown eyes of District Three's male mentor, Concordia had to restrain the affection she held for him. He couldn't be her Uncle Beetee at the moment, and she couldn't be his devoted student. They had to keep it all professional.

As a small slice of sorrow began working its way through her heart, a firm hand on her shoulder eased it back. Looking up, Concordia realized that Uncle Peeta had finally arrived to bring them back to the penthouse, and from her point of view, it couldn't be soon enough. She needed to regroup and discuss bringing Eniac and Carn into Twelve's alliance, as well as confer with March and their mentors as to who the final member might be. She had some ideas, but she also knew March did as well. Concordia hoped they were as in agreement as they were on Carn.

"Thank you, Miss Abernathy, but I can take it from here," Beetee Latier stated awkwardly. He wasn't an emotionally expressive man, like Concordia's father, but what he felt, he felt deeply, and he loved this little girl. Even if she made it through the arena, Concordia would never be the same. Nobody ever was, and Beetee, along with several of the other victors, were already mourning the little girl they'd watched grow up.

"You're welcome, Mr. Latier," Concordia replied with the proper formality. It seemed they both needed the distance good manners provided at the moment.

"Come on Cordy. I have a surprise for you upstairs," Peeta Mellark offered, pulling his saddened tribute away. He understood all too well the way the games isolated tributes and mentors alike, and he didn't want the girl he loved like a niece to feel alone. He and Katniss had decided not to pull away from her in these final days together, no matter how painful it might be, and they would keep that promise. Besides, their surprise visitor should lighten Concordia's spirits; she always did.

"Really, what is it?" Concordia asked, grateful for the distraction.

Peeta smirked mischievously, and winked at March, who silently began to follow behind them, the day-long work out and the previous tense situation leaving him exhausted. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"


	6. Chapter 6

Authoress' Note: This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

Forces of Nature: Part 6

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

"Grandma!" Concordia squealed with joy, as she bound through the foyer and into the penthouse livingroom where Evangeline Trinket was seated on the sofa.

"Dearest, Dearest, not so tightly! I'm an old lady, you know," Evangeline chuckled, hoping that those listening would have their perceptions of her youngest granddaughter's strength encouraged.

"I'm sorry, Grandma; I'm just so excited to see you! How did you get in here?" Concordia asked, not understanding why her grandmother had been permitted to break the rules on family visits. Was this some sort of assault on her morale, an attempt to use her family to break her focus?

"No other tribute before you has had family in the Capitol, Dearest. And tributes are allowed guests, so long as they're not directly connected with the games, which is why your grandfather wasn't able to join me; he's still registered as one of their legal consultants. However, Mr. And Mrs. Mellark have been very kind in permitting us this time together, and I think we need to thank them, don't you?" Evangeline nudged, the command phrased as a question falling off her lips with practiced ease. She'd raised two daughters, helped her eldest, Theodora, with her own children, and last but certainly not least, had taught theater at the the Capitol Conservatory for the Performing Arts for over 40 years. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was to shape an awkward adolescent into a well spoken, well mannered, adult.

"Oh yes, thank you, Aunt Katniss, Uncle Peeta. My grandmother and I are very grateful. It was a wonderful surprise indeed," Concordia responded as she stiffened her spine and chastened herself to play the role of a young lady. Rules or no rules, she knew that nobody got up to the tribute suites without the mentors' say so, and she also understood her Grandmother's intentions with all this formality. Capitol matrons were supposed to be graciously formal and demand the same in their offspring at all times. She was playing her part and Concordia had been slouching in the unguarded sincerity of a district child.

"Yes, it most definitely was. Now, introduce me to your district partner, Concordia. I'm dying to meet such a strong, young man from your quaint, little home in Twelve," Evangeline challenged, knowing that people from Twelve were fiercely proud of their hollows and their way of life. In their own way, they were as arrogant as any Capitol citizen, and she wanted to judge just how short a fuse this young man had when pushed.

"Name is March Brenner, Ma'am, and it's an honor to meet you," March stepped forward and offered his hand, causing the older woman before him to blanch and his district partner to snicker.

"He won't hurt you, Grandma. I promise. He was just upset at the reaping," Concordia insisted once she'd recovered from her very unladylike chortle.

"I apologize again, Ma'am. Truly, I just don't know how to behave here. I'm sorry," March cowered, completely unsure of what he should do or say next. His Ma had taught him to hold elders in the deepest regard, and now he'd not only doubly insulted his district partner's grandmother, but he'd done so without even realizing it. He should have remembered that this woman only knew him from what she'd seen on Capitol TV and not automatically offered his hand of all things.

"Well, if the beauty of living is in being able to start anew each day. I say let the the two of us start anew right now," Evangeline Trinket pronounced, her hardened resolve to dislike this boy melting away. He wasn't some hothead itching for a fight; he was just a simple boy trying to make his way in a extremely complicated situation. What's more, he appeared to live by a personal code and, as a result, was painfully honest, too honest for the Capitol's liking.

Now that he and Concordia had bound their fates in the arena together, that would never do, and Evangeline planned to request that the Mellarks permit her to come over early on the final day of training and coach the boy for his interview. She knew from her younger daughter's comments over the years that mentors were in charge of a tribute's public image. If granted permission to coach the boy, she'd need to gain insight into the Mellarks' plans for him. Left to his own devices, young Mr. Brenner was just too plain, too direct, and completely unable to mask his feelings and intentions. That could easily get both children killed, and Evangeline Trinket knew she had to act for her granddaughter's safety.

"I appreciate that, Ma'am. Really, I do," March nodded in relief. He hoped they really could start anew. He needed her assistance in getting sponsors, as it was her home that the fundraiser for his district partner and himself would be held and her family and friends that would help them drum up support for Twelve's alliance. Her good will was essential to his survival in the arena, but even if he couldn't survive, he still wanted her respect. A Capitol Evangeline Trinket might be, but he was beginning to understand that not all Capitols were cruel and his district partner's grandmother seemed to be one of the good ones.

"Well then, I've brought my granddaughter some cookies from her favorite bakery here in the Capitol. I'm sure she'd be happy to share them after the two of you have finished your dinner," Evangeline suggested, nudging her grandchild towards adult hospitality once more.

"Of course March is welcome to a few cookies. Perhaps we should save them for our meeting tonight. Then all our allies, assuming we get any other allies, can share in the bounty," Concordia agreed, knowing the cookies her grandmother always bought her were divine. If a few sweets could seal the deal that would help save her life, she wasn't above Epicurean bribery.

"Oh, you plan to take on more allies? Doesn't District Twelve usually go it alone?" Evangeline asked with false surprise and concern. She knew very well that her granddaughter needed an appropriate amount of canon fodder and co-stars for her scheme to work, but she had to make the gamekeepers listening in believe she knew nothing of Concordia's plans.

"Usually, but not this year," March added, before sinking back into the couch cushions. He was eager to discuss bringing in Carn to their alliance and had briefly forgotten the discomfort he'd been in just a few minutes ago. Now it all rushed back to him as he realized he'd spoken without being addressed first. His mother would be pulling her hair out if she could see him now. Considering how even more important good manners appeared to be in the Capitol, March was sure he'd just stuck his foot in his mouth again.

"We're aiming for a pack of five or six. Personally, I'm leaning towards Eniac, the Girl from District 3. She's young and slightly built, but her memory is amazing! It would be like entering the arena with an encyclopedia of survival techniques on our side. Besides, the Careers are always the strongest and most aggressive. We don't have a prayer of matching them in bite or brawn. We have to be fast and adaptable and Eniac's already got those skills down pat." Concordia offered up. She recognized that Eniac was not most tributes' dream ally, but even more important than her brain, standing next to the Girl from Three could only make Concordia look larger, stronger, and more capable of leading their pack by comparison, and boy did she need that image.

Concordia was trapped in a catch 22; without her Capitol graces she'd never be able to win the sheer volume of sponsorship needed to sustain her alliance throughout the games, but those same graces had the opposite effect on potential allies. Like most district citizens, they saw Capitol ways as one big joke, a joke that could turn cruel without notice, and thus silently mocked them from a distance. Eniac was the bridge Concordia needed in order to transcend that distance. The Girl from Three was already grateful for her willingness to stick her neck out with the sociopath, Sparkle, and if Concordia played her cards right, she could make Eniac her loyal disciple.

The one real obstacle to Concordia's winning that loyalty was Uncle Beetee and Aunt Wiress. They were far too perceptive not to see straight through Concordia's scheme. The question was, did they otherwise view their tributes' chances as so hopeless that they'd hold their tongues and allow the alliance to go forward, believing that hanging with Concordia was better than facing the Careers alone. If so, they'd promote the alliance, and Eniac would be won. If not, she'd have to make do with March, Carne, and a few less desirable choices.

"I like Carne from Ten.. and maybe Sequoya from Seven," March added, needing to get his preferences out in the open.

"Well Carne, definitely! Did you see what he can do with a rope? Not to mention, he seems personable, like we'd all be able to work well together with him around to smooth out any personality conflicts. I also like Sequoya, but with her comes her mentor, Johanna Mason. I'm not sure you're ready for Johanna Mason," Concordia commented wryly. Truth was, Sequoya suited her just fine. She was fast on foot and like most tributes from District Seven, her climbing abilities were unparalleled. If anything, convincing HER to join THEM was the obstacle. One could argue Sequoya's best chance was in flying solo. The real question was did she want to do so? Aunt Johanna could be controlled by the other mentors when they worked together, and Concordia knew not to take most of what came out of her mouth at face value. If she could just get March and any other allies to understand that, they'd survive her and make it to the arena intact.

"If I can't handle spending a few days with District Seven's mentor, how can I even hope to survive the arena," March asked, not understanding why a potential ally's mentor was his district partner's main concern. Sequoya was tall, quick, alert, and healthy. From his point of view, that made her a strong potential ally. Her mentor wasn't going into the arena with them, so what did it matter.

"Aunt.. Johanna Mason ravages anything weak that dares come into her presence and she perceives good manners as a sign of weakness. Our District Twelve respect for elders will rub her the wrong way, so none of that 'Yes Ma'am' stuff. Address her as you would your buddies down at the hob and you might win her respect," Concordia advised. March needed to know that Johanna Mason's approval wasn't a mere technicality. While Sequoya could ally with them despite her mentor, she was very unlikely to, and making an enemy of Johanna Mason could very well hurt them in the arena, even with her safely tucked away at the training center.

"Then how the hell do you get along with her?" March chortled, earning a wince from Evangeline Trinket and her granddaughter.

"I don't back down from her. That's also how my mom keeps in her good graces. We don't let her bait us and when we do end up in conflict with her, we give as good as we get. If you can do that, she lets your good manners slide, but you don't have time to forge that type of relationship. You have five days, so behave as boorishly as you can whenever she's around. Act all respectful and she'll never let Sequoya ally with us," Concordia replied, for a moment glad that March was a bruiser from the Seam. If he'd been a kid from the merchant side of Twelve, like Uncle Peeta, Aunt Johanna would eat him alive.

"I think I can handle that," March commented dryly. He knew he was lowly, even for Twelve, and according to his district partner, District 7's sole living victor would respect that. Despite how he tried to see this as a good thing, he still felt judged. Yes, he was a hob rat, but even he didn't really want to believe that was all he could ever be, even if, in the long run, it saved his life.

"I'm sorry to disturb your little get together, but Concordia, March, you have three more visitors," Valencia Monroe cooed excitedly. Having both tributes from District Two and the Boy from District One show up on your doorstep with the famous Gloss and Enobaria at their side wasn't something that happened every day. She'd met the two victors, of course; it was one of the perks of being an escort, but to have them come to her was the greatest thrill of her life up to this point.

Plastering on a welcoming smile, Concordia excused herself and led March to the outer foyer where they silently waited for one of the career tributes or their mentors to speak. After several seconds of quiet, it was Marcus, the Boy from Two, who finally broke the silence. "If the two of you will join our alliance, we're willing to dump Sparkle at the Cornucopia."

"Finally noticed she's crazy, did ya?" March commented under his breath, earning smirks and slight nods of admission from the careers.

"Hot, but yeah, completely off her rocker," Marcus added with a laugh, earning a withering glare from his district partner, Livia.

Were it not for her hips and a hint of cleavage disrupting the otherwise smooth line of her tank top, the Girl from Two might as well be a slender, if extremely muscular, boy. Concordia couldn't help but imagine Two's stylist crying himself to sleep each night since the young woman had volunteered at the reaping, all his lovely creations ruined on her masculine, eighteen year old frame. Not only would Snow not be able to sell her to horny Capitols, but should Livia win, she'd be an embarrassment to a Capitol which hated nothing more than cosmetic ugliness. For the moment, people were so impressed with her muscles and weapons abilities that she had the fourth highest sponsorship numbers behind Marcus, Concordia, and Sparkle, but there was no way that the gamemakers were going to let her leave the arena alive and wear the victor's crown. While a part of Concordia knew she should be pleased that Livia's unfortunate appearance gave the control room a target more enticing than herself, she couldn't prevent a touch of sadness from marring the moment. The Girl from Two had effectively committed suicide by volunteering, though judging by the way she held herself, she didn't yet fully realize her mistake. Marcus and Superior, the Boy from One, obviously did.

Internally chastising herself for getting distracted by Livia's image issues, Concordia considered her next words. To rebuff the offer too harshly would make the three sane careers vindictive when the gong sounded. The last thing she needed was for them to take her desire to survive as a personal slight. No, she had to make them see that while she thought her chances better outside of an alliance with them, she respected the value of what they were offering. "Thank you very much, but I must decline. March and I already have plans and while I'm sure your offer is sincere, it's not right for us."

"You on board with that, March?" Superior asked, obviously trying to breed dissension between the the two tributes from Twelve, even if they hadn't found a solution to their Sparkle problem in an alliance.

"Yeah. Cordy's right. We're two kids from Twelve. Our only hope is to stay low and go it alone. You guys can do the whole pack thing. It's not for us. Thanks though," March answered after looking each of the careers in the eye. One thing was certain, when he wasn't blinded by previous assumptions, March was an excellent judge of character.

"Alright. Your funerals, literally. I guess we'll see you at training tomorrow. Nice work on the mat today, Abernathy," Marcus tossed back condescendingly as he and his allies began to turn towards the elevator.

Concordia was torn. While just as cocky as the rest of the careers, Superior had more to loose than just his life in the arena if his psychopathic district partner won the games. Thinking of his innocent family back in One, Concordia forced herself to speak. "Superior, do you have a plan in place with your kin, you know, if Sparkle wins?"

"What do you mean?" the Boy from One asked with genuine curiosity. Unlike the others, Superior took his mentors' warnings seriously. They'd known the Girl from Twelve since she was in diapers and they were advising he be weary, that their alliance should rank her at the very top of their kill list because if she escaped the cornucopia alive, they might not get another chance at her. Superior might not see what they saw, but he knew that their own interests favored bringing home another victor from One.

"Do you really believe 23 kids in an arena is going to sate her bloodlust for the rest of her life? I don't, and if you guys really do ditch her at the cornucopia, your parents and siblings might end up in graves along side yours when she returns to One. I'm sure your mentors have a plan to keep her in check if she comes out the victor. From what I saw by the elevators, Cashmere is already well aware of what her tribute is, but why risk it? If it were me, I'd call everyone back home and have them prepare, just in case," Concordia explained her thinking.

While looking weak to these three could only help her, she wasn't thinking of that right now. From what she'd seen on the replay of District One's reaping, Superior's parents had at least six more mouths at home, but it was their youngest that had drawn Concordia's attention. The little boy had appeared to be about the same age her Uncle Birch had been during her father's games, and Concordia couldn't think of him without thinking of his simple gravestone. That was all she'd ever known of him. District One's victors never got on Snow's bad side, but Panem's president wasn't the only danger in the country, and a dead tribute's family, even one from the country's wealthiest district, weren't a high priority for the peacekeepers. She had to at least say something; otherwise she'd enter the arena with regrets, and those could only weigh her down.

"Yeah, well, that assumes Sparkle is gonna to live to see One again; she won't. We won't let her. Anyway, we got to go, but thanks for your concern, Twelve. See ya tomorrow," Superior responded, his eyes never leaving the observant girl's as he took several steps backwards towards his companions. The others would see her comments as either an attempt to psych him out or a sign that the Girl from Twelve was soft. He wasn't sure and he'd have to give it more thought. Maybe he really did have a call to make.

"Goodnight," Concordia responded, waving as they got on the elevator with Enobaria and Gloss behind them. Before the doors closed, she saw Gloss tilt his head towards Superior and then nod to Concordia, as if to reassure her that he and Cashmere had the situation in hand. While she knew he was working to see her dead by next week, at least he shared her concern about his sister's tribute.

Concordia hoped they did. When she'd spoken with Sparkle less than an hour ago, she'd been close enough to look into her eyes and it had taken everything in her thirteen year old form not to shiver. There really wasn't a human being in that lovely body. There was just a hunger to kill, wrapped in flesh. Somebody had to protect the people of District One. Heck, someone had to protect the people of the Capitol if Sparkle made it out of the arena alive.

That last thought brought Concordia back to her grandmother who was still waiting for her return to the livingroom. She'd need to make her own plans to protect her Capitol family should the worst happen and she was no longer around to do it herself.


	7. Chapter 7

This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

Forces of Nature: Part 7

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

"..I call it the wildebeest strategy," Concordia announced to her new allies and their mentors. She and March had been lucky. They'd gotten all three of their picks, although getting Eniac had required taking on her district partner, Ficus, thanks to Beetee Latier's manipulation of events. Not that Concordia was surprised; she knew her honorary uncle from Three was quite crafty and that he was just doing his job getting his tribute into an alliance that would likely protect him. She'd told March that what a tribute did in the arena would never be held against them once they became a victor and Concordia had to concede that it should follow that whatever mentors did to give their tributes their best shot shouldn't be held against them either.

Besides, Ficus wasn't likely to become a drag on their alliance, he was a good runner and took instruction without complaint, but unlike each of the others, he brought nothing new to the table. Unless he were faking the way Johanna Mason had before her games, his only real value was as a human shield. He was a nice kid, but Concordia knew it was him or her, so regrettably she would use him as she must.

"Wildebeest? What's a wildebeest, and how does it apply to all of us cutting and dying our hair and skins?! Your Capitol half is showing, Twelve!" Sequoya snorted, causing everyone in the room, mentor and tribute alike, to chuckle in response.

"Wildebeest are animals from Africa, right?" Ficus gingerly offered, obviously wanting to be a help but knowing he was but Twelve years old and was of little use to the other kids. He came from a well off family in Three, and programmed energy grid systems the Capitol used to keep their electricity flowing and adequately regulated on its long journey from District 5 and ensured that every Capitol home and business got its fair share of heat from District 12's coal. He was scrawny and had no real skills that would make him an asset in the arena. He was dead weight, but these kids had taken him on. Sequoya and Carne had squawked a bit at first, but now that they were allied, they appeared to hold no grudge against him. He wanted to help one of these kids become a victor, even if he knew he was as good as dead already, so he would do whatever he could for them.

Concordia nodded and gave Ficus a smile of encouragement. "I learned about them on one of those Capitol educational programs they pump out to the districts. Wildebeest look exactly alike, animal for animal. Their similarities are DNA deep and as a result, the females give birth to an absurd numbers of deformed calves."

"Fascinating," Johanna Mason drawled, slumping deeper into her chair as if she were on the verge of falling asleep. Concordia got the message, while several of the other mentors gave the victor a disapproving look.

Concordia joined their looks with one of her own, making sure she caught the eye of her honorary Aunt from Seven, before speaking again and hardening her final sentence for emphasis. "Isn't it? And because the wildebeest are so identical, predators have a really difficult time telling one animal from another. When they stampede they create an optical illusion of a solid wall of animal. Their predators can't distinguish one individual from another, so they can't target any individual."

"So you're thinking that if we take a page from their book and have our stylists make us all look as identical as possible, the careers won't be able to target any one individual in our alliance either. That's good, Twelve. That's really good," Sequoya conceded, now seeing the point of Concordia's strategy.

"But won't we upset the gamemakers that way? I mean, if the careers can't tell us apart from a distance, won't the gamemakers have the same problem?" Eniac posited, knowing that the worst possible thing a tribute could do was intentionally tick of the gamemakers.

"The gamemakers use a tracker they implant in each tribute's arm before the hovercraft leaves the training center, so they don't need to rely on sight to keep up with you in the arena," Beetee Latier informed the group before Concordia could explain it all herself.

For some reason, his and Wiress' tributes were determined to follow the Girl from Twelve and Eniac had nearly danced on air when Beetee had told them that Concordia and her mentors wanted to discuss an alliance. Ficus had almost broken into tears at the prospect of going it alone without Eniac, and Beetee could see she was torn between wanting a fighting chance and wanting to protect the boy who was only four weeks past his twelfth birthday. While Beetee knew Concordia becoming a victor was a long shot, he also knew she'd make it much farther than his own two tributes, so joining her was the right move for them. By assisting her in explaining the gamemakers' means of tracking tributes and speaking to her as if she were an equal, he was reinforcing Concordia's role as leader of the group and banishing any remaining doubt the older and larger teenagers had about following a young girl. He was coronating her as this new alliances' leader, and given the alternatives, she was the best pick for the role.

While it might be painful to admit, like most people in his district Beetee Latier had an almost visceral disgust at the idea of hiding from unpleasant truths, and over the past twenty-four hours he'd had to face a big one. By socializing with victors since birth, listening to them dissect the games from the perspective of experience, and learning vital skills from her father and all her honorary aunts and uncles, Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was now no less of a career than the tributes from One and Two. The fact that she'd never volunteered, never attended a fancy killing school, and never developed a taste for sadism didn't alter this reality. She had the perspective and training for the Hunger Games that separated career tributes from all the other confused adolescents heading into the arena in under five days, and that combined with her obvious loyalty to the allies she'd carefully chosen made her the most competent member of this alliance. As mentor to two of the six young people involved, it was his job to back her up when she was right and lend some of his own authority to her leadership while he still could.

"I need to say something here. I get what you're proposing, Cordy, and I think it's definitely worth doing, but how do we get the stylists to go along with us and not blab our strategy. I mean, mine can't keep her mouth shut for five seconds, much less five days," Carne grumbled in frustration. He'd hate to be the one to ruin what otherwise appeared to be a top notch plan, but his chief stylist, India, was a blabbermouth. Even his mentor, Spur, who'd worked with her for ten years, cringed every time she opened her mouth.

"Well, that's where Sequoya's mentor and her ax come in," Concordia wickedly teased, getting the mentor form District Seven's full attention.

Joining in the banter, now that the subject matter was turning gory, Johanna Mason sat up straight and took a healthy swig of her beer. "You want me to take out a few Capitol stylists, Cordy? Not that I'm refusing, mind you, but don't you think that would paint a giant target on your back in the arena?"

"If I were asking you to gut them, of course it would, but thankfully that won't be necessarily. All our alliance really needs is for you to invite our stylists up to Seven's suite for a cup of tea sometime in the next day or two, bring along your ax and Spur his garroting wire, and gently remind those we've entrusted our appearances with that unless there's a clear violation of the game's rules taking place, a stylist is under the direct authority of the mentors and contractually sworn to secrecy about any planning or strategy he or she is privy to while performing their duties. Then inform them that the tributes they've been assigned will need their special attention the morning of the games and that you expect them to arrive no later than 4:30 AM. They don't need to know the whole plan until the night of the interview. That way they have time to choose what supplies to bring with them the next morning, but won't be forced to keep the secret more than a handful of hours," Concordia detailed, knowing full well the pull of the spotlight and what it could make a Capitol do, even with a group of proven killers had threatened them if they said the wrong thing in an interview.

Suddenly, the usually silent Wiress tugged on Beetee's sleeve and whispered something to him. When she was done, Beetee smiled and patted her on the back in appreciation. "Wiress has offered to create a three dimensional composite of all your faces for your stylists to work with. It will help them blend their tanning sprays and hair dyes as precisely as possible, which should enhance the illusion of sameness."

"Thank you, Wiress," Katniss Everdeen called from across the penthouse where she was putting together two cups of coffee for herself and her husband. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, all the tributes and their mentors joined in her praise of Wiress, causing the Female Mentor from District Three to smile brightly.

Her intelligence was off the charts. Wiress had been told that all of her life, but when she opened her mouth, few truly understood what she was saying. The Hunger Games were all about actions, words meant little, which was how she'd pulled off her own victory despite her scrawny build and lack of weapons training. Concordia, like her mother and her mother's family, was skilled with words, and Wiress could already see the Girl from Twelve reaping benefits from that gift. The other tributes in this alliance, especially her own, were falling in line and in awe of her because of them. All of Wiress' experience with the games told her that words couldn't win a tribute victory, but if anyone could prove her wrong, it was Concordia. Her experience aside, Wiress' instincts were screaming at her that she could very well witness the triumph of words this year. More than any living victor, even Concordia's father and her two mentors who all loved the girl enough that they'd happily die in her place if such things were possible or permitted, Wiress and Wiress alone saw the path to Concordia's survival.

Concordia could feel the Female Mentor from Three's eyes evaluating her approvingly, and she smiled inside. Like almost everyone else in Panem, she had a hard time understanding Wiress, but as with the stroke-silent Mags, she always knew the woman from Three loved her as much as any of her other aunts and uncles did. Wiress' eyes told Concordia everything she wasn't saying and that amplified Concordia's self confidence tremendously. "Okay, so we'll meet here the morning of the games at 5:15 AM to give our stylists time to work. I know it seems excessively early, but you'll be on the table, then in the chair, for over three hours, and that doesn't include the time you'll need to eat breakfast and get dressed in whatever costume the gamemakers send up. Now, moving onto our diets over the next few days. In the arena, we're going to be burning a tremendous amount of calories, so we're going to need to put on some fat stores quickly. The best way to do that is with sugarless carbohydrates…"


	8. Chapter 8

This story is premised on the idea that there was no 2nd uprising due to a series of natural disasters that deflected attention away from Katniss, Peeta, and the possibility of rebellion. If anything, anti-Capitol sentiment waned slightly as it was the Capitol that affected repairs on badly damaged infrastructure and ended an outbreak of a new and deadly disease in Districts 10. As a result, the Hunger Games continued another 16 years till District 12 tribute Concordia Trinket-Abernathy was reaped.

AUTHORESS' NOTE: The quote attributed to Napoleon in this part comes from an old TV show, Jack of All Trades, where Napoleon was a reoccurring character. The real Napoleon never said this as far as I know. Famous historical quotes are not always accurate and sometimes come about because of fictional works that feature real people saying things that sound right. In Panem, Capitol teachers and Concordia's history tutor cite this quote as being from Napoleon's own lips, so Concordia knows it as such.

Forces of Nature: Part 8

(a Hunger Games AU)

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

The night of her interview, Concordia felt like a princess. She loved the shamrock green dress Cinna had designed for her. Knee length and less cumbersome than her parade gown, the rich, yet fun, green made the lavender sash around her waste and the matching pinned tulip corsage at her neckline really sing, while subtly reminding everyone in the Capitol that Concordia wasn't just some kid from the coal mining district. She was a scion of one of the 79 founding families of Panem, and just as President Snow wore his family flower, the white rose, on his lapel whenever he appeared on Capitol TV, so Concordia wore the purple tulip of the Trinket clan.

However, unlike Snow's roses, the Trinket tulips were naturally bred, not genetically engineered. The blossom attached to her dress was lush and robust thanks to generations of Trinket gardeners nurturing this flower's forebearers. Snow's roses were layered with additional scent and bleaching to create what was in effect a floral mutation. Concordia couldn't help but acknowledge that the two families' approach to horticulture also reflected their differing approaches to exercising power, but quickly recoiled from the thought. All her life she'd been warned about getting too political, and her thoughts were drifting in that direction. Her games had to be nothing more than games because otherwise there would be no path to survival, and Concordia had had it drilled into her since she was a toddler that survival was everything.

Thankfully, Caesar Flickerman had built a career out of completely eschewing the moral or political repercussions of the Hunger Games, and she seriously doubted he'd change tack this year. Over several months, Concordia had crafted the story she hoped to sell her mother's people in order to win as many sponsors as possible, so all she had to do now was fit her fiction into Caesar's line of soft ball questioning. While the audience assumed the tributes had no clue as to what they'd be asked when they walked out on stage, Caesar always spoke with their mentors before hand. Concordia trusted Aunt Katniss had done her job. Now she and Caesar would do theirs.

Taking a deep breath to banish any remaining introspection, Concordia twirled twice in front of the mirror, just as Cinna entered her dressing room. "I'm glad you like it."

"It's wonderful, Cinna!" Concordia cooed, pleased to have her attention distracted for a few moments.

"You know what you're going to say?" Cinna questioned, confident that the girl did, but knowing the room was bugged and they needed to sound like an ordinary tribute and stylist.

"When have I not known what I'm going to say? Daddy claims I'm my mother's girl in that respect, and he's right," Concordia giggled at her father's genuine comment. Most of what she planned to reveal to Caesar regarding her parents in her upcoming interview was pure goat's dung, but even if he figured it out, Caesar would never call out her lies on camera. Contradicting a tribute in their interview might be considered picking sides, and there were plenty of younger entertainers waiting in the wings to take his place as Master of Ceremonies. Not to mention it was a really great story for the games, and the charm of it would have likely won his silence, even if concern for his job wasn't always in the back of his mind.

Cinna smirked and shook his head slightly. In his estimation Concordia had a fair shot. He'd seen plenty of victors who weren't careers, or even very skilled with weapons, but none the less won their games. Some believed that such a feat required extraordinary luck, and the middle-aged stylist couldn't deny luck played some role in the Hunger Games, but his honorary niece was extremely smart, and she understood the games on a level no other tribute had ever had the opportunity to view them before. In short, Concordia recognized that her most dangerous adversaries were the gamemakers and her most devastating weapons were the Capitols' citizens themselves. If she could keep the hearts of the Capitol rooting for her and use their love to stay the hand of the gamemakers in the control room, killing twenty-three other teenagers, the majority of whom were less well trained than her, wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility.

After tucking a few strands of Concordia's hair into place, Cinna gave the girl an appraising look. "Perfect. Now, your public awaits, so let's get you backstage."

Fifteen minutes later, Concordia was waiting on line for her interview. While most of the other tributes awkwardly watched the view screen while trying to make their capitol finery fit more comfortably, Concordia Trinket Abernathy was keeping an eye on the other tributes, seeing how they dealt with nervousness or boredom as they waited to be interviewed on national television. Meeting Superior's eyes as Sparkle droned on and on about how excited she was to participate in the games, Concordia could see that he was using this time the same way. Her father's pride surged through her and Concordia refused to lower her eyes as the two played a game of chicken while they waited for Sparkle to finish. Finally, Superior was tapped by a stage manager and reluctantly broke eye contact. It had been a draw, but there were no draws in the arena. Concordia knew she had to be extra careful when the time came to kill him, lest she loose her life instead.

After waiting on line for over an hour, Concordia's moment finally arrived and she strut on stage, waiving to her fans and warmly greeting Caesar Flickerman with a friendly peck on the cheek. "Cordy, Cordy, Cordy! What can I say, you look amazing as always!"

"As do you Caesar. I love your hair this year! Aubergine seriously enhances your cheekbones! Well done!" Concordia cooed, as she and the Hunger Games' longstanding Master of Ceremonies took their seats.

"I can't disagree with that, but thank you," Caesar replied, winning a chuckle from the audience and his guest. Even as a little girl, Concordia had always known how to shine for the cameras. All he had to do was follow her lead.

"Well it's true. This is my fourth time on your show.. fifth if you count when my parents brought me on at seven weeks old, and you always impress," Concordia responded, winding down the banter and taking a tug at the heartstrings of the little old ladies watching in their Capitol homes who remembered her as a baby.

"That's right. That's right. This is your fifth time on my show. You're not angling for my job, are you?" Caesar quipped, making Concordia smile again.

"No, it's my dad's job I'm after," Concordia replied sweetly, batting her eyelashes and achieving a roar of laughter from the crowd.

"I'll bet. So, in all honesty, how is your dad handling your reaping? Is he as excited as you seem to be?" Caesar questioned, knowing full well Haymitch Abernathy would be the farthest thing from excited about his child enduring the games. However, when he married Effie Trinket, he put aside his drunken, antisocial persona as not to put his new family in danger. He would play whatever part he needed to in order to bring his daughter home. Of that Caesar had no doubt.

"Yes, but for all the wrong reasons," Concordia sighed and pouted her lips disapprovingly, setting up the next question.

Caesar smiled and continued on. This girl really knew how to make his job easy. "How so?"

"Well, most fathers would be overjoyed that I was granted this opportunity, but my dad is just happy he doesn't have to listen to me caterwaul about how much I want to be in the games over the next eleven months. Honestly I should never have made that deal not to volunteer until after my sixteenth birthday. I love my mother; I really do, but I can't deny I'm awfully grateful to my escort, Valencia Monroe, for rescuing me from the purgatory of just watching the Hunger Games and wondering what could have been. Thank you, Valencia!" Concordia nodded indulgently to her touched escort in the audience.

"Oh, you made a deal with your parents not to volunteer til you were sixteen?" Caesar asked as if he'd just uncovered some great scandal and was the first reporter on the scene.

"Till after my sixteenth birthday, yes. You see, ever since my mom found out she was having a girl, she's dreamed of my Sweet Sixteen party. My friends here say all Capital mothers are like that, but regardless, my dad was worried that if I went into the arena and came back disfigured in one fashion or another, he would catch hell for supporting my plan to volunteer. My mom has always been a bit more conflicted about it due to her desire to see me shine, and dad didn't want my dream of being in the Hunger Games to short circuit her dream of dressing me for my party two years from now. To keep peace in my family, I agreed to hold off on volunteering, only to kick myself during last years games. I could have so crushed last years tributes, even Cadmus," Concordia explained, almost growling with frustration as she ended her speech, knowing her claim would fuel speculation of an inevitable feud between her and last year's victor should Concordia win this year's games.

"You think so?" Caesar asked, the picture of intrigued.

"Cadmus is a beautiful killer; nobody can deny that, but he has a blind spot on his left side, particularly when it comes to lower body strikes. It's glaringly obvious to anyone who's actually paying attention, and yet none of his pack members exploited that weakness in the final melee. I mean, let's remember, these three had watched him in training, they'd watched him while hunting down the other tributes, and yet he still comes out on top? Cadmus won last year because the rest of his pack was sloppy and too busy posing for the cameras to get the job done. I take nothing for granted, and what's more, I'm in this thing to win, not to 'show off my wares' as we say in Twelve," Concordia concluded, giving an unforgiving analysis of the final melee of last years games. There was no flowery language or gushing praise of the most recent victor as they'd heard a million times this past year, just a run down of events and the openings she'd seen him expose to all of Panem if only they'd bothered to look.

Her ruthless affectation, technical detail, and aggressive tone were meant to send shivers down the spines of as many Capitol citizens as possible, and judging by the confused and stunned looks on the faces of Caesar's audience, she'd hit her mark. Up until now she'd carefully cultivated a persona of an ordinary Capitol teenager who occasionally used a folksy, District 12 colloquialism to make a point, especially with her previous story about her mother's ambition for her Sweet Sixteen. Her score of 9 in individual evaluation may have raised some appreciative brows, but without context, without seeing her performance for the gamemakers, her wide-eyed, precocious image had remained intact. But as the ancient general, Napoleon stated centuries ago "There is no greater trap than the illusion of civility.", and Concordia had just sprung that trap on national television the night before her games.

"You'll be getting your chance to prove yourself tomorrow, I dare say. So, speaking of your games tomorrow, do you have a strategy?" Caesar pushed on, letting the girl from Twelve and the Capitol spin her web.

"Caesar, when do I not have a strategy? But seriously though, I already have allies lined up, so I'm definitely going the pack route. Other than that.. well let's just say that if I told you I'd have to kill you," Concordia joked with a deadpan expression, causing the entire auditorium to erupt with laughter at the half-amused / half-petrified face Caesar had made at her pronouncement.

"Well, I think this interview is over. Thank you for coming. Please don't kill me on the way out," Caesar added for effect, keeping the audience in stitches.

"Not making any promises here, but for you, Caesar, I'll try," Concordia replied with a wicked smirk on her face. Now following his lead, Concordia moved to stand next to the television host she'd known all her life. Despite her public bravado, she understood that this could be the last time they were together and Concordia silently took in the moment.

"Thank you, and, seriously, thank you for all the fun we've had together over the years. Concordia Trinket Abernathy!" Caesar Flickerman boomed as he raised Concordia's hand with his own. He did this for all the tributes, but despite his jaded nature, she was special to him. He too remembered all the times she'd been on his show, and he'd taken great joy in watching her grow up. He just hoped she was as good as she sounded. Rationally he knew she was a long shot, but he wanted the chance to continue interviewing her till his retirement a few years down the line, so he'd wish her the best and genuinely mourned her if her cannon sounded in the next few days.

As Concordia walked off stage, giving a small wave to her supporters, she breathed a sigh of resolution. Over the past week, she'd utilized every opportunity to garner sponsorships before the games, but that part of her plan was over. Her Aunt Katniss and Uncle Peeta would still be at her grandparents' fundraiser, but she'd be in bed by the time they returned to the penthouse with the final tally of the night. On her end, all she could do was return to their suite, have a carb-heavy snack bar and a glass of skim milk, and go to sleep. If her family of victors was any indication, Concordia would likely never have another peaceful nights' rest for the whole of her life, irregardless of the length of that life, and she was going to take advantage of this final chance at uninterrupted slumber.

Tomorrow she and twenty three other children would be carried off to the arena, and for all but one, their deaths. With luck she'd be the survivor, but if the fates turned against her, at least Concordia could honestly say that she lived every moment. A little over an hour after her interview ended, that singular truth purged the roiling thoughts from Concordia overactive brain and let her fall asleep. As the old song went, she'd done it her way.


End file.
